All posts tagged DCIS MyStory

As an athlete, I was led to believe in order to achieve you had to experience pain. Not the broken leg type of pain, but the internal exhaustion when you’ve pushed yourself to your absolute limits – physically and mentally. A place where grit overtakes the will to give up. A time to intentionally break myself down so that I could be built back up. Yes, pain was a friend sought out as a hallmark of progress. No pain, no gain.

2018 Hike on the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu

As an adult, with my athletic days far behind me, pain is not something to be achieved, but rather to be relieved. My aging body sounds off, retaliating for years of athletic overuse, leaving me to now wonder if the price of greatness in youth means payment in doses of pain in adulthood. The repetitive nature of high caliber sports – particularly swimming and volleyball, have left behind hallmarks of arthritis and degeneration. A January snow shoveling “twitch” triggered my avalanche of problems. The bottom line is pain and once you are held in its tailspin, getting out consumes your thoughts. Believe me, I’ve spent many months trying to reduce my back pain: Rest, ice, heat, physical therapy, oral steroids, lumbar injection, CBD oil, and even dietary restrictions to work on inflammation from the inside out. But I’m still left with pain that refuses to cease. Disabling pain that prevents me from climbing mountains, hiking, standing and walking any distance – all activities that have both restored me and defined me for decades.

“Pain is like a song you can’t stand on continuous replay, drowning out the melody of your favorite tune. And worse yet, you simply can’t figure out how to change the channel.”

I now better understand those of you who live in pain every day. I empathize with you and know what it means to have good days and bad days. Depression envelopes me while looking back at what I could do just one year ago as I stew in what I can’t do today. Then I am buoyed up while counting the many blessings of family and friends, of a beautiful home, garden and front porch to write this blog. Yes, pain plays mind tricks and tests you constantly. I get it now, some 8 months later. Pain is both a reminder that we are alive and a warning flare that something is wrong.

This message is intended for those of you struggling with your own pain – be it physical or mental – the type that rarely gets relief , that gnaws at you daily, hourly. I get it now. Sure, I’ve been through many bouts of pain after childbirth, surgeries and injuries. But they were temporary, not a constant drumbeat that refuses to be silenced. Pain is like a song you can’t stand on continuous replay, drowning out the melody of your favorite tune. And worse yet, you simply can’t figure out how to change the channel.

So what do you do when pain is winning and you don’t know what to do? Get help. So I’m putting my trust in a surgeon to fix my back. Little does he truly understand the importance of recovery for me as a person. How can he? I’m just another back, another surgery, another fix. The potential for his skilled hands to transform my pain into living life fully again is palpable. Counting down the days, I am actually looking forward to feeling the pain of surgery as that intentional infliction means the possibility of resuming life as it was. Life without pain that I took for granted. So many times I’ve put my trust in a talented doctor to fix my broken body and have been healed. It’s time to do so again as options are all but exhausted.

Trust. Pain. Gain. It’s all a part of living. To those of you still in pain, whatever it is, seek help. Explore your options. Try everything for your one body and one precious life. For now I understand, first hand, that living in pain is not fully living; it is time to get back to the business of living.

As an avid gardener, I know a key to yard work is to regularly schedule my time to maintain gardens. Planting and harvesting get much of the attention, however a hidden secret to a successful harvest lies in weeding. Yes, weeding is cruicial, not just for the look, but because pesky weeds steal away nutrients and water from the good things we are intentionally growing. Weeds are manageable if you pull them at frequent intervals. Tweny minutes a week is not too bad once you have a yard under control. But if you are gone for a month and come home after a rainy and hot June, guess what greets you? A forest full of happy weeds. You can either let them grow and lose control or get to work.

Just like our gardens, we need to stay on top of things that creep, unwanted, into our lives. That means doing regular maintenance of things we may not want to do or pruning back parts of our lives that have gotten out of control. Once you begin working on your personal gardening, you’ll realize the benefits to all parts of your life.

Weeds invading my beloved garden.

How do we start weeding out? First, you have to be ready (emotionally and physically) to get weeding. Second, identify the weeds in your life and prioritize them. Third, grab your gloves and get weeding!

So what do you weed out first? Is it bad habits? Friends who wear you down more than bring you up? A cluttered house? Toxic relationships (personal or professional)? An unhealthy work environment? Whatever it is, you are your own master gardener, so own your gardens and get to work. All you need is a pair of nice fitting gloves (in case you run into particularly prickly weeds) a bit of time and the right mindset.

In the spirit of personal gardening, I’ve taken this last year off from paid work, focusing on a personal sabbatical to do my own weeding. And the benefits have been many. A year of trying new things, cleaning out the house #mariekondo style, painting, gardening, traveling, sharing 69 cups of coffee with the community, spending time with friends and family, reading and writing. Yes, lots of me time. And it has been such a gift. And now I’m ready for the next big thing in my professional life because I did the weeding I needed to do. For me. I encourage you to do the same, whatever that looks like for you in your life at this moment.

Are you motivated to start your own personal garden weeding? Here’s a weeding exercise if you are ready to get to work. Answer these three questions (really, get a paper and pencil), then prioritize your lists.

What (or who) are the “weeds” in my personal life that need attention? (Think physical and mental health, friendships, life surroundings – home/garden, and groups I associate with or volunteer for regularly). These are things in my life that suck out my energy or invade my time, leaving me too busy to focus on things I really want to do or be someone I’d really like to be.

What (or who) are the “weeds” in my professional life that I am in control of pulling? Work is never perfect. Even if you work for yourself. So what parts can you weed out or delegate to make time and space for the things you are really good at and love to do?

If I could weed out things in my life, what would I like to do with new found time and energy?

So what did you learn about yourself? Your “home” self versus your “work” self? Is it time to start plucking the weeds or should you grab the pruning shears? What is holding you back? The weeds are only getting thicker and sucking away the nutrients you need to live a happy and healthy life. Remember, you are the master gardener of your life. Whatever weeds have crept into your life, you only have to open your eyes to see them, squat down and start pulling. Even if it is a field of weeds, you start by pulling the first one. With each weed pulled, you will gain satisfaction and eventually, reclaim your garden.

Once your weeds are under control, you can look forward to spending more time at your happy place doing things you really want to do. For me, it is sitting on my front porch with feet up, favorite beverage on hand and hours ahead with no set schedule. I hear the birds singing, the lawn mowers humming, the softball girls in the park cheering, have books to read, a journal to fill and a blog to publish. Here’s wishing your garden gets free of weeds soon.

It was a year ago today that my father passed away. In reflecting on the first year without “dad,” I didn’t have to look much farther than my home to feel close to him. Surrounded by artifacts that were once his, I realize that things cannot replace true presence. My heavy heart longs for a hug or a father-daughter talk over a cup of coffee in his Georgia sunroom. It is this coffee mug (pictured) that has deep significance today. A mug that was made by my mother, gone now 35 years, and enjoyed daily by my dad for decades. Drinking coffee from it today I steep in the memories as the year mark tolls.

The feeling of grief and emptiness is all too familiar – the first year is the hardest when you lose a loved one. You have to learn how to live through every day and every holiday without them – Father’s Day and his birthday were the toughest. The first and hardest year is over. As I feel the warmth of dad’s coffee cup, I’m reminded that my dad left his fingerprints everywhere – on his family, church, community, friends, volunteer work, Bosnian refugees, students, published papers and colleagues. Yes, his fingerprints are everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

After recently re-licensing my dad’s car this fall, the Georgia plates switched to Illinois, the car is now officially mine (fourth try is a charm…) A few weeks ago I decided it was time to deep clean my new set of wheels. This cleaning was not just a vacuum and wash, but an elbow grease, deep cleaning with Armor All effort from hood to trunk. Discovering a wayward grocery receipt wedged in a seat, I paused to read what was purchased at the Marietta Kroger. It was evidence of my dad’s favorite snack foods, which made me smile. Touching his empty sunglasses case and a handmade sewing kit in the glove compartment made me feel calm in a weird sort of way. I half expected dad to come out of the house and sit down next to me. Dad’s presence was palpable as I reorganized the trunk and checked out the first aid kit he always kept in each car for emergencies. He was always prepared.

Closing the trunk, I sat back in the front driver’s seat to do some detail. As the cleaner-soaked rag rubbed round the bumps of the steering wheel, I froze with an awful realization. I was rubbing off my dad’s fingerprints. Horrified, I teared up feeling like I was wiping away his presence. The finality of death hits you when you least expect it. Grief comes in waves that you cannot anticipate or control. The tears flowed uncontrollably. Staring into the rag, I wondered where fingerprints go and contemplated their power to tell stories as evidence that “I was here!” I finished cleaning the console, rugs, and dashboard then just sat in the stillness of the quiet, clean car. Sitting still was both therapy and a gift. My mind went to work reflecting on stories of fingerprints left behind. Two came to mind in a car ride that never left the garage.

Last summer our grandson, Leo visited the house and in his active and inquisitive nature pulled himself up on my dad’s antique bookshelf with glass panel fronts. Leo walked clumsily along the windows, using the bookcase to stabilize himself. Before I could snap a picture, (grandma takes a whole lot of pictures), he plopped down and crawled off. Even though I missed the photo of my grandson peering into the bookcase at his great grandpa’s antique artifacts, I discovered something that Leo left behind – his tiny fingerprints on the glass bookshelf. Juxtaposed in front of my dad’s treasures, the evidence that life goes on was tangible. Our fingerprints are both unique and quietly remark, “I was here.”

The other day on an outdoor walk, my route meandered through the Batavia Riverwalk, a linear park along the Fox River that my family and our community spent eight years lovingly building. As I paced along the brick walk, memories of donating sweat equity on Saturday workdays came flooding back. I could hear the stories, see groups of volunteers, and a feel a sense of community accomplishment. Although our physical fingerprints are long gone, the Riverwalk represents the culmination of our collective hands that still stands today for the community to enjoy. Tens of thousands of fingerprints joined together to built this wonderful gathering park. And my fingerprints were there too with echoes of “I was here.”

As I finish writing this blog, I catch a glance of a computer screen laden with fingerprints. Feeling the urge to clean them off, I am struck by the thought that there are so many more things that need our fingerprints on before they are wiped away for good. And so I ask, “What is it you need to leave your fingerprints on in this world?” More importantly, “What are you doing to make that happen?” Because fingerprints don’t last forever, unless they are the kind that leave an indelible impression, just like my dad’s left on me.

I had an annual physical with my GP last week. The same old pee in a cup, take some blood, step on the scale, listen to your heart and lungs and analyze your poop. Somehow, these normal tests have made me feel like I am once again myself. It has been just over five years since I was diagnosed with DCIS and about four and one half years since my treatment ended. Now, about the only time I remember I have lived through “this” is when I get a glimpse of my reconstructed breast in the mirror while hopping out of the shower. If I look quick enough, it doesn’t even register in my brain that I am different. Heck, I have even unsubscribed to many of the breast cancer resources I once followed diligently.

But all this has taken time.

The time to heal, both physically and emotionally. And now I feel good and sound and whole once again. My GP proclaimed me “healthy as a horse” with unremarkable test results and low blood cholesterol (with the good stuff very good and bad stuff, very low). My weight is in the normal range and so is my BMI. I exercise regularly, sleep 7-8 hours a night and eat wisely. So, all in all I am quite normal and am relishing that thought. Before my diagnosis my normal state was taken for granted. Five years ago at this time, all I wanted to be was normal. Today I am glowing with this revelation that to be normal is to live. And I’m living in the moment and planning for the incredible future ahead. Weddings, grand openings, new gardens, traveling, and sharing life’s adventures with my biggest gift – my husband Steve.

My wish for you is that you too find and celebrate your normal. If you currently have it, don’t take it for granted. For those of you working your way back to normal, know that I am and others are cheering you on. Just remember to celebrate when you get there and be mindful of what a gift your normal truly is.

Girls need female role models and mentors to help shape them into women of worth. Specifically, I want to recall one such woman, Jean Freeman, my former swimming coach at the University of Minnesota. Jean had a profound impact on me as an athlete and more importantly as an emerging female leader. Prior to my coming to the U of M, my swimming coaches were always men. I have nothing against men, who were very formative in my athletic development and mental preparedness. But it wasn’t until I was coached by Jean as a golden gopher that I felt nurtured in a way that has had a life-long impact; the type of real time learning about being a female leader navigating amidst a world full of male leaders.

Jean was a quiet, yet forceful type of female leader. Her way of encouraging could be found through her piercing whistle, poolside chats and questioning of my sometimes playful attitude towards training (or off season antics). She carefully assigned me leadership “tests” throughout my years at Minnesota to encourage my steady progress. These ranged from hosting potential swimming recruits, to representing the “U” at functions and leading my peers as a captain. Her nature was to encourage and to strengthen my resolve to want to be better – as a swimmer and as a person. Her lasting touch of influence stays with me today.

As I stood at the dedication of the Jean K. Freeman Aquatics on December 6, 2014, I could imagine Jean would be blushing, humbled by all the attention. She was not one to revel in the spotlight, but one to want to push others to get there. Jean, you are most deserving of this lifetime achievement award of having a building named after you. Not because you or your family or swimmers gave millions of dollars to “buy” this for you (for we did not), but because of the legacy of a life well lived and a statement of the power of being a female mentor to thousands. I am proud of the University of Minnesota for naming a building after a person of worth, rather than the worth of a person. I am so proud of you, Jean. Of what you built at Minnesota and of the mentor you were to me and hundreds of others. Your goodness is having a ripple effect to other young women and will continue to do so as a living testimony of your life well led. I look forward to future visits to campus to again see the “house that Jean built” and also to remember the lessons you taught me and so many others.

Though you lost your battle to cancer, you won our hearts and your lessons live on in all who knew you. Welcome to the Jean K. Freeman Aquatic Center, home of my mentor, Jean Freeman.

Peeling back the onion on a once-in-a-lifetime experience is complicated. My husband and I returned from Spain two weeks ago and a common question is, “So, how was it?” My answer was never what I wanted, but what can you expect from a hallway conversation or brief encounter when you don’t know if they really want or are ready for a long-winded emotional reply?

This week the students where I work (IMSA) asked me to speak at “Minds on the Mike,” a Ted-talk-like event put on by Student Council. I was forced to sit down, reflect and articulate about what I’d say in my seven minutes and was able to boil it down to a few points.

THE FOUR P’S OF EL CAMINO DE SANTIAGO

1. PREPARATION

Inspired to celebrate our milestone anniversary in a unique way, my husband and I started planning our trip to Spain to walk The Way of St. James (el Camino de Santiago) to count our blessings and ‘unplug’ from our daily lives. Equipment preparations for me began one year prior to departure, when I retired my external frame backpack used for Boy Scout High Adventure outings and purchased a new lightweight internal frame pack. Next came the light weight sleeping bag, waterproof pack cover, packable high performance clothing and so on. Steve took care of travel logistics (planes, trains, public transportation) and I found us a centrally-located hotel for our stay in Barcelona for our off Camino vacation. We allowed ourselves a very long planning period of over a year to assure we were ready.

The one part of preparation that really made a difference in the Camino experience was a distance walking program I developed. Our first walk (featured on the right) was 4 miles in early February, trudging through snow and cold. The past winter in Chicago was unforgiving; one could look at as an obstacle, but instead we viewed it as a field test for our outerwear and long underwear. Each weekend I would add one mile to our Saturday journey and then Sunday would be one mile less than Saturday – so 4/3 first weekend and 2 miles twice in the week, 5/4, 6/5 and so on until we hit 13/12 on the weekend and 6 miles in the week before we left in late April.

The one thing we couldn’t train properly for in Illinois was the hills and mountains. Somehow getting on a treadmill and tapping up the incline wasn’t quite the same and the Fox River bicycle trail (asphalt) couldn’t mimic trail conditions. The result was two major blessings: no blisters or injuries. Cafe con leche (coffee with milk) and mas pan “more bread” kept us going. Yes, preparation paid off.

2. PEOPLE

An entire blog could feature the people we met on the Camino. When we didn’t get their name, one was made up for them that equated to the place they “are from” or some key feature: Jackson Hole, Señor Valencia and such. One person I want to talk about is featured on the photo with me and his name was Frederick (from Germany). We met Frederick well into our Camino at the end of day 5. I overheard him talking to some ladies in the lobby of our hotel about his Camino, which started 89 days ago in Germany. He was unfolding maps and routes and was so fascinating that I invited myself (and Steve) to share dinner with him that night.

Frederick was an older gentleman, probably mid to late 60’s, who is a semi-retired architect in Germany. He designs upscale residential homes and was on the Camino for holiday and for also design inspiration. As he ordered his fine bottle of wine, he exclaimed that “life is too short to drink cheap wine,” and then proceeded to share his wine with us. “I like this guy,” I remember thinking as I sipped in the good stuff. It was later that we also discovered that he battled a major health issue in 2012 and this Camino trip was both a health goal and celebration of life. Every person we met had different intentions for their Camino; the shell we lashed onto our backpacks was the outer sign of our inner Camino and bound us together as we greeted one another with “Buen Camino” (good road) while passing along the trail.

3. PACE

As a natural athlete and sprinter, the thought of someone passing me never sits well. Yes, you can say I’m completive, always. In fact, long races or endurance contests are not really my bag. Despite this, I love the cadence and peace of long distance walking. One thing I didn’t consider was that there would be many rates of pace along the Camino and I would need to deal with the fact with shorter legs and a longer torso, that I’m not a swift walker. My pace allowed me to stop and take pictures, smell the flowers and admire the countryside. But day one with more people passing me on foot and by bicycle, I had to resolve with myself that this was not a race; we all would reach the finish line at our own pace. Once I came to resolution with this, the walk was much more about finding my personal rhythm and less about what other people’s speed was. I also learned from a biker who hopped off his bike to walk with us for awhile, that biking the Camino may allow you to cover more miles per day (significantly), but that you don’t really “see” the beauty of the trail. He started getting off his bike to meet people and also to let the scenery go by more slowly. I’m sure the butt break was also most welcome. No, my pace was just fine, and 1,023 photos and video clips and six days later, we reached our designation of Santiago and celebrated Divine Mercy Sunday at the Cathedral at the Noon Pilgrim’s Mass.

4. PILGRIMAGE

There is plenty of time to reflect when you walk 120 km through the Spainish countryside. There were dozens of churches to pray in, and kilometer markers to count off, as well as a 3:00 pm alarm on Steve’s watch that were constant reminders and cause to pause to reflect. Steve and I had never been on a two week vacation together and being away alone for 15 days was a gift in itself. Our pilgrimage was one of celebration for our marriage, our family and the many blessings that envelope us daily. We also enjoyed and appreciated the history, architecture, culture, landscape and people that blended to form our own personal Camino pilgrimage.

Before departing, as part of preparations, blessings and intentions were gathered from friends and family and written down on a pocket-sized journal that I carried in my backpack. As I entered churches and walked along, I offered up these daily, frequently thinking about the people who entrusted them to me to be part of my pilgrimage. It was a privilege to carry these and offer them up at the cathedral in Santiago. Steve found a side chapel where a religious statue beckoned me to place the journal in a basket. Steve likes to think that the incense used in the swinging ball used in the Pilgrims’ Mass was composed of books like ours. Yes, I’m going with that idea.

Our Camino was an experience that I’m still unpacking (literally and figuratively) and will forever change how I view my journey through life. As Steve and I completed over 100 km, we were presented with our official certificates after presenting our credentials with stamps from the places we visited along our route that verified our accomplishment. As the women inked in my Latin name (Brigidam McKenna), I felt a sense of personal and spiritual accomplishment. I’ve also come to realize that we are all on Camino and just need to remember our credentials and clam shell to encourage others to join us. Life is good and I wish you a Buen Camino.

As winter lingers and snow showcases a white crystalline landscape all around me, I become mindful of waiting. Some of my midwest friends are sick of winter and others are taking a midnight walk to enjoy the snowy magnificence that has enveloped us. Some are counting the days until spring and others refuse to wait and have hopped a plane to escape the polar vortex that has gripped us this season. Looking out the window on a sun soaked morning, the snow has encased our backyard. I reach for my coffee cup and click on the Olympics, where an athlete is about to start their race. The clock ticks down and finally, their personal wait is over. Yes, waiting is just part of living. Waiting is part of our preparation time. There are so many times in our lives where waiting creates anxiety or prepares us for the future. It is all about how we interpret the runway.

When one is waiting for test results or left outside an operating room in an emergency situation, waiting resembles some sort of hell – a separation from those we love or from information that might give us solace. But waiting can be a wonderful part of preparation. In a world of immediate gratification, waiting gives us time to prepare. Watching the athletes at Sochi just before their race or event starts, I can feel the tension that waiting creates. I’ve been there. Once the event starts, the wait is over and it’s all you and how well you prepared. The gift is in the waiting if you let it be; the journey is in the preparation.

And so, I now begin my preparations and waiting for a new adventure ahead. My husband and I are headed to Spain to walk the el Camino de Santiago, the Way of St. James later this spring. Our waiting is composed of preparation and distance walking training. I experience a walking rigor to prepare for the Avon Walk two years ago for pink and personal rehabilitative purpose; now I share that waiting with my husband as we are counting down towards thirty years of marriage. We are pilgrims still on the journey, together.

What are you waiting for? And how can you make the wait part of your journey?

May your wait be spiritual and not painful, may your wait make you mindful and more prepared. Find your wait purpose and use that to be stronger. Don’t waste the wait, it is a gift unto itself.